A Helping Hand
by TalysAlankil
Summary: "In short order, I was showered" says Apollo when talking about his stay as a mortal in the Jackson apartment. But Apollo is not known for being a reliable narrator.


"Let's get you cleaned up. Percy, you take Apollo."

I may have been overwhelmed by Sally Jackson's unwavering kindness and overly emotional after the day I'd just had, but when I turned to let Percy show me the way, I was certain I caught him smirking. It gave me a sense of _déjà vu_ , but with the state of my memories, I couldn't place why that would be. Maybe someone else had looked at me before—back when I was a god and worth looking at that way.

Then Percy turned around and I shoved the thought aside. I _wasn't_ a god anymore, and my current form was definitely _not_ something to look at. Clearly I'd just misread his expression. Maybe that was what pity looked like—I wouldn't know, having never experienced it before.

Yes, that must have been it. Everything was right with the world again. By which I meant everything was _wrong_. For me, anyway.

Percy marked a brief pause when I entered his bedroom, and the teenage part of me made my own breath catch as I realized I was maybe too eager to intrude on another boy's privacy. But then Percy shrugged, and waved towards a door on the side. "Bedroom's that way," he said, not looking at me. "I'll get you some clothes for when you're done. Just leave what you're wearing in the laundry bin."

I couldn't bring myself to question his cold, distant attitude—the prospect of a shower was too tempting. I rushed into the bathroom, tore my filthy clothes off of myself, stepped into the shower stand, and—

—found myself confronted to the most esoteric-looking device I'd ever come across in my life. At least I thought so—it was hard to remember the details of Hephaestus's workshop, but it _couldn't_ be as complicated as this.

"Um," I let out. "How does this even _work_?"

Admittedly, I don't have much experience with showering, since gods don't really _do_ that. Baths, yes, for relaxation and pleasure. But showers? Showers are efficient and focused on accomplishing a purpose I'd never really needed. Who needs those? Aside from mortals, I mean.

I must have been lost in contemplation, because suddenly, there was a presence behind me and I hadn't heard anyone coming. "I heard you were having trouble." Percy's voice, followed by the brush of coarse fabric against by backside that I assumed to be connected to Percy's body.

The mortal side of me took over—and it was very conscious that I was completely naked with an attractive, slightly older boy inches away. "Wh-what are you doing?" I hated the way my voice cracked, but not as much as I hated the snicker that came in answer—and what it did to me.

"It's not like we haven't been in this situation before."

"Have we?" I couldn't remember.

It didn't seem to bother him. "You loved to brag that you taught me everything I know," Percy continued. "I heard Meg say you told her as much. You didn't really think you taught me how to be a hero, did you?"

His words could have been harsh in another context, but they held no bite—only a suggestion. "I—"

"If you're not okay with it right now, I understand. It's gotta be weird for you." That was when I'd realized he hadn't moved yet—he was perfectly still behind me, close enough for this to feel intimate, but not enough to feel dangerous. Not close enough that he could look over my shoulder and see the effect his words had on me.

"But?" I heard it in his voice—no point beating around the bush.

"But if you need help unwinding, well…this might be your best chance in a while."

I didn't want to appear overly eager, but I only managed one second of silence before I spoke back. "I do need someone to help me operate this hellish thing."

Percy snickered again, and suddenly, the distance between us was closed. He'd lost his hoodie, and I thought I felt the press of bare feet against mine, but aside from that, he was still fully dressed, his jeans pressing roughly against my skin and his t-shirt letting his body heat permeate into my skin.

He lay his head on my left shoulder, and a hand on my right, forcing a gasp out of me. Then, when I stilled, he reached past me with his other hand, turned a knob—at least I'm pretty sure it was a knob, but I wasn't paying close attention—and hot water poured over both of us.

"Let me do your back," he said, and I didn't answer—didn't move— _couldn't_ move. His body suddenly parted from mine, quickly replaced with hands sick with soap that worked their way up and down my back. He was slow and gentle, and he never reached further down as I'd half-expected, half-wanted him to. It could have been innocent—if not for what he'd said earlier. Or had I read too much into his words?

But then his hands slid over my shoulders, and on to my chest, only to slow when his fingers found my hardened nipples. "You were sensitive there," he whispered, as if he couldn't see that I still was—as if he couldn't hear my breath hitch when he'd touched them. "If I remember correctly, there was also _this_ spot—"

He fell silent, but only because his lips had closed at the base of my neck, just above my collarbone. I felt my legs give out already, but Percy caught me, pulling me against him so I could use his body for support—and feel his own arousal through the layers of clothing.

The moment stilled, Percy nibbling and biting into my skin, his hands working over my chests and dangerously close to my groin, and me incapable to do anything but let him. Then his lips moved, trailing soft kisses up my neck and stopping under my jaw. "We should take care of your hair. No offense, but it's kind of hard to ignore."

A vague sense of shame filled me at his comment, but I only nodded. Percy vanished again, coming back with more soap—or shampoo, I couldn't tell or care—and lathered into my wet hair. I squirmed at first, the contact feeling domineering, patronizing in a way his previous ministrations had, but Percy held firm.

"Don't move," he said. "It'll be easier this way."

I didn't stop moving, but Percy only chuckled. One of his hands left my hair, slid down my chest, and briefly hovered before he grasped my erection. I gasped again, louder this time, and stilled when he gave a first, tentative stroke.

"There you go. Good boy."

It felt like an echo—had I told him that before?—and it was even more patronizing. Even more domineering, humiliating even. And yet, combined with Percy's touch, I found myself wanting more.

That revelation left me breathless, which Percy took as an encouragement. He gave my cock another stroke, and along with it, whispered another praise into my ear.

"You _like_ that," he said simply—there was a hint of surprise there, but mostly he accepted it and took it in stride without judgment. "We'll have to figure that out some other time."

 _Some other time_ sounded like a promise, like a declaration—that this was good enough to leave him wanting more, even though all he had done was take care of me right now. It sent a thrill down my spine, but it also made me wonder. "Don't you want me to—"

"Later, maybe. When my mom's not expecting us. Come on, we need to rinse that off."

His hands went back to my shoulders, and I nearly cried out at the lack of contact on my cock; but then he flipped me around, left me with my head under the spray for a short moment, then pinned me against the wall and dove in for a kiss. With that, all thoughts of complaining when away. The press of Percy's bulge against my cock, covered in rough denim and the wet, clinging fabric of his t-shit was more than enough contact there when he was working so hard to unravel me with his mouth.

And I let him. I opened my lips when he prodded me, I let his tongue take over what was left of my conscious brain, I let his hunger take me over completely. Any trace of shame, hesitation, insecurity, were all gone. He wanted me, as I was right now, and that was enough. No, not enough; that felt like everything _I_ wanted right now.

He kissed me, and he ground his hips into mine, overwhelming my senses so much I felt like remaining conscious was a struggle. His hands kept mine in place, but he suddenly released his grip, leading my hands to tangle them in his hair. Then he slid his own hands down again, and one wrapped around my cock, resuming its lazy stroking. I felt more than I heard him open the fly of his jeans, fumbling to never break the press of our bodies, then Percy's cock was free. I knew it, because I felt the the warmth of it as it pressed and rubbed against mine, and I could feel Percy's hands working over both of our cocks at once.

I lost myself to that feeling—the press of Percy's cock against my skin, leaking and needy for me. The next few strokes sent me far over the edge, cascading down my climax as Percy didn't relent, stroking and pressing and kissing and touching and _wanting_.

By the time I'd fully come down, he'd caught me again—prevented me from sliding down the wall to the shower floor. He'd come too—I could faintly remember the sound of his ragged breath through my own orgasm, faintly feel the warmth of it against my stomach—and yet he'd caught me anyway.

I managed to gather my wits enough to lean up and press my lips against his—and promptly missed and hit the side of his mouth instead. I couldn't be embarrassed, though, because all he did was smile in return. "I certainly feel unwinded now," I managed to say.

He huffed out a laugh. "Good. And…I guess we're even now." He took a step back, keeping his arms around me, as if to make sure I was steady.

I was, physically, but his words had shaken me. "Even? What, you felt like you owed me? Is that why you did this?"

Percy just shook his head. "No, I mean—hang on." He stepped under the spray, and I watched the water do his bidding and clean his clothes thoroughly. "You slept with me when I was fifteen and you were a god. Now I slept with you when you're in your mid-teens and I'm older. It's only fair, right?" He stepped back from the spray, and flashed me a wolfish grin then. "From there we can move to just sleeping with each other without keeping scores. You know, if you feel like it."

I wasn't keeping score—or at least I didn't remember that I was. But I could move past that. "I think I do feel like it."

"All right." He cut off the shower, and stepped out, instantly dry, before handing me a towel. "I'll hold you to that. But not right now. We do have a demigod to take home."


End file.
